


Fever

by yeaka



Category: Red Riding Hood (2011)
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, PWP, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-23 02:28:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20884658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Valerie rides her wolf. That way.





	Fever

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Red Riding Hood or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

She opens the door, and he slinks over the threshold, walking on all fours like the beast that he’s become. His hulking figure just barely fits through the narrow doorway—his black fur tickles the wooden sides. Valerie steps back, but only to give him room. She isn’t afraid of him. Her skin prickles, her pulse fast, but there’s no fear in her. Only want. He lifts his paws off the floor, and she watches his massive body change before her very eyes, grotesquely twisting and shrinking, bones snapping into different places and muscles stretching past their limit. It looks painful, but he makes no noise. The wind slams the door shut on its own. The last remnants of snow shake out of his fading fur to litter her welcome mat. 

Then he’s _human_ again: a big, strong man that Valerie finds just as mesmerizing. He doesn’t tower over her, but his presence is enough to fill the space. His clothes didn’t coalesce with him—he ran out to hunt first thing in the morning before getting changed. He moves towards the bedroom, maybe to fetch his clothes, but Valerie doesn’t want that. She prefers him just the way he is: naked and ready for her. 

She follows him up the raised platform, and when he reaches the bed, she doesn’t let him walk around it. He glances back at her just in time to the see the blow coming, but he doesn’t stop her. She gives him a hard shove that sends him toppling onto the mattress. She’s already hiking up beside him by the time he turns around. He shuffles back on his arms to lie properly across it, needing the extra room. She’s right there with him. She wants to rip her own dress off but doesn’t want to waste the time so doesn’t bother—she needs to be with him _now_.

She straddles his lap, and he must know what’s coming. His eyes flicker, a sliver of gold still hiding in the irises, and he grins like the wolf he is. His hands lift to her skirt, sliding it up her thighs, revealing more and more bare skin for him to dig his nails into. She lets him bruise red trails into her, because she loves it when it _stings_, when she can really _feel_ it, when there’s evidence left over in the mornings. She’s strong enough to take it—she isn’t really a _witch_, but there’s still wolf blood in her veins. If there wasn’t, her entire body would be bruised, littered in the little pink grooves of teeth and fingers and her own muscles tensing from desperation. Instead, there’s only a few day’s worth of markings: still enough that the villagers would throw a riot if they ever saw her. 

Peter’s the only one she sees anymore. Peter’s the only one she needs. She runs her hands around his crotch, falling to his cock, and a few dry strokes is all it takes. He’s always hard for her when she needs him. She’s always wet for him in return. She lifts over him and lines them up, loving the greedy look on his face as he lifts the skirt up higher. 

She pushes him inside, gasps at the intrusion, and forces herself right down. He’s _big_, big enough that it hurts at first, but Valerie likes it that way and pushes right through it, whining loudly as she swallows him down. Bit by bit, she shoves her body lower. It gets easier with every thrust, because she bounces while she goes and rocks in and out, and feeling him makes her wetter, makes her flex open, makes her _need_ him deep inside her. She takes him to the very base and rests there, struggling to adjust as he trembles beneath her. She knows he wants to slam up, but he would never hurt her, so he behaves. 

He rubs circles in her hips instead, staring up at her and growling, “_Valerie_...”

She nods. She knows. She needs it too. She wants him so much. Her hands trail up his stomach, spreading out and bracing against his chiseled chest. He’s always been toned, having always worked hard, but he’s only gotten _stronger_ since his bite. She can feel that raw power flexing beneath her fingers. It makes her want him all the more. There’s no man alive like her Peter, and she worships him or it. 

She lifts up and pushes down, moaning at the exquisite burn. She goes even higher on the next thrust, slams down all the harder. She starts bouncing up and down on his cock with the speed and ferocity of someone _starving_ for it, because she is. She rides him for all he’s worth, loving every second. 

Peter grits his teeth together. She can see his muscles going tense with the effort to hold back. She doesn’t need him to, but she takes advantage of the moment to enjoy having all control—she sets the pace, she doles out the pleasure. She drinks in his handsome face and every little detail in his perfect body. He’s so _hot_. She could never have married anyone else. She couldn’t imagine not being with him. She works herself up as much from that—_having the man she loves_—as she does the brutal sex: he fulfills her both physically and emotionally. It builds her to the edge, and when she knows she’s getting close, she gasps, “Peter—”

His resolves shatters. She can see it splitting, and the next thing she knows, she’s on her back—he’s grabbed her and rolled them over so fast that it would knock the wind out of her if their blankets weren’t so soft. He throws her knees over his shoulders and leans down so low that she’s bent in two—he slides in so deeply that she can’t do anything but scream. Her fists curl into the blankets, then dart up to him—she clutches at his hair and shoulders and drags him even closer. They grind together, his hips now doing the work. He thrusts into her _so_ hard. His broad chest pins her down. She wishes she were naked so she could feel it better, so her breasts could flatten into his chest, and she could _feel_ every bit of him. Her dress is already clinging to her trim body with sweat. Her hair is a mess across her forehead and the pillows. He slams home, and Valerie breaks. She tosses her head back and shrieks. 

He comes inside her first—she can feel it filling her up, sloshed around as his cock keeps going. He keeps pumping into her. She bursts a few seconds later, crying loud enough to startle all the birds outside. 

Peter keeps fucking her through it. He grinds out her orgasm, and she loves him for that. It’s a dizzying, blissful moment of nothing but utter _pleasure_. By the time he stops, Valerie has nothing left. 

Peter slumps down atop her, heavy and sweaty and reeking of sex. It suddenly feels strange to have him inside her, but she doesn’t push him off yet. He presses a kiss against her cheek, comically chaste against the fierce way they just made love. 

Exhausted, she murmurs, “Welcome home.”

Peter chuckles, then tells her, “I love you.”


End file.
